Shadows Where I Stand: Fishnet Moon
by A. N. McCormick
Summary: Lies die,but the truth remains,and no one escapes for long. She tried to run, but Snape found her secrets and everything she escaped is crashing down. Now Snape must ressurect her soul,but their hatred and obsession may damn them both


Fishnet Moon

Part |: Shadows Where I Stand

Chapter One: A Mask In Hell

                                                          A. N. McCormick

 ****

**Disclaimer:** If you have read all five book (four is sufficient)  and you don't recognize someone or something in this then it probably belongs to me. All else belongs to J. K. Rowling and is copyright Bloomsbury in Britain and Scholastic in America. Any characters (Nyamh, Tamsin, etc.) or plot-lines unrecognizable belong to me. [See bottom of page for copyright.] So please, don't steal, because all you're doing is showing the world you are unable to think up something yourself. 

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry! It will never happen again. I promise to update sooner and work faster. IpromiseIpromiseIpromise!!!!!!!!! *Hugs all the old readers in great thanks*  Thank you for coming back. I appreciate it.

 Okay, for all you new people. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules and meaningless lives to read my fan fiction. Note that it is rated R for a reason and several chapters will be extremely violent. Also, there is a lot of religion tied into some of this, so if you take offense to Paganism, it would be best for you to pass by. This is a very dark story and not for someone looking for a fluffy romance, even though this does have some romance, it is _not_ the sweet sort of romance you typically find. If you cannot handle love/hate relationships (a.k.a S&M) or bisexuality in supporting characters, you should pass by as well.

                                    Thank You,

A. N. McCormick 

  And yes, this a story about Snape trying to condemn his soul, a woman, slowly dying from herself and locked in a Hell of her own creation. And as the six remaining blood-lines begin their ascent, it soon becomes clear the seventh, the Ardientes, never died. 

        Malfoy, Black, Lestange, Fiamma, Mutare, Snape, and Ardiente. The seven legacies of grey, balancing the opposites dark and light. The Goddess's seven must return to stable the world. Now the six that remain must find the last and most vital. For without the Ardiente heir, Hekate's Shadow, the circle is not complete.

_She_ thought she could change her blood. She thought coming to Hogwarts could erase the past. But Nyamh Mortis has walked right into the source of what she sought to escape. And Snape knows she is lying about everything in order to survive. But lies never last for long and the truth lives forever. Fate throws them together and they find themselves bound by hatred… and obsession that may very well damn all.

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Nyamh hated the man on sight. Cruel and malicious people she was familiar with; it was so satisfying to rip them to physical- or emotional shreds afterward. What Nyamh could not stand was commiseration. Exactly what the Headmaster showed. Hatred she understood, pity she refused to tolerate. "I'm sure you will be very happy here." Dumbledore smiled with disgusting saccharine. 

Grey eyes focused on the world outside the window as she ignored him. Underneath the black trench coat Nyamh shivered, the cold racing up her spine. The horizon had been growing steadily darker all afternoon and the heavy rain that began to fall just after sunset came as no surprise. The pouring water had been frigid, adding no ease to the already tiring journey. 

"Miss Mortis… Miss Nyamh?"

She settled back into the conscious world: disorientation clouded her mind and senses like fog. "Ms. Not Miss. And the mh is pronounced like a v in Gaelic." There was something that hovered beneath her words. The voice of one too weary to think.

Dumbledore leaned forward. "Forgive me, you must be exhausted and I am prattling on." For a moment the Headmaster paused to study her gaunt features. "It is late but if you are hungry I can send for something?"

"I am fine." Her veins stood out like purple vines against her skin and betrayed her words.

A slight frown appeared at his blue eyes, but next vanquished itself, almost too swiftly to follow. "Very well. We need to go over your transcripts."

"Yes." 

Several rolls of parchment found themselves materialized and then flattened across the Headmaster's desk. "I just want fill in a few sections and make sure everything is correct. You know how these things get rattled." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacle and smiled at her. "Full name?"

"Nyamh Mortis. I- I don't have a middle name."

"Your age and birth date?"

"18, born October 31, 1977"

He nodded as if approving. "And your place of birth," he finished.

"Saileach, Ireland."

Dumbledore rolled up the parchment. 

"I… believe that is all the information I require." The woman nodded, her movements slight. "Now, it is our general rule to have students placed without bias, but with your circumstance I," he stopped on glimpsing her expression, however vague. " I- err- I feel there is a certain professor I believe might be able to help you."

"I do not need _help,_ Headmaster, despite the fact that everyone else appears to think so." Those pale dark eyes were blazing now.

"Well-"

A young woman's voice cut him off. "We'll take her." Unabashed, she strode over to Nyamh with hand extended. "Gwenhwyfar Trevalen, but I go by Gwen. And you are Nyamh Mortis." She even said the first name right.

Nyamh raised her brows. "You've been there for a while I suppose."

"Don't be so touchy, I do this to everyone and I'm blackmailing half the school."

"The people who blackmail me typically die. In painful manners."

            "Oh, how sweet."

Dumbledore semi-frowned, like a line ever so slightly curved over.

Snickering, Gwen rose to her full height of 5'9''. "Oh come on. Why not Slytherin? I mean she and Tamsin ought to get along well."

"I think it would be better if-"

"Great! So it's settled." Gwen grabbed Nyamh and attempted to haul the other woman out of the chair. Twisting her hand away, Nyamh detached Gwen's grip. The warning glint said more than words. For a moment Gwen went still but returned to her normal self swiftly. "Hey come on. I'll take you down to the kitchens for some food and then you can crash."

Once more the Headmaster's brow creased. Was it truly wise to place her under Snape's care? He had wanted her in Gryffindor, where McGonagall could prevent prying by House members. But Slytherin was another matter. The girl would be lucky if her secrets survived until dawn. Swallowing his hesitation, Dumbledore watched them go, resigned to whatever resulted of his decision.

_________

"Okay, food!" Gwen had not let her go yet.

Nyamh paused. "Eh?"

"Food," she repeated slowly, twisting her chestnut hair. "It's what you eat."

"I know what food is." _Damn it! _

"Bite me!"

Yanking the trench coat around her self, Nyamh scowled in return, "Fine! Come here."  Her sharp shoulders stiffened. "What's your fucking problem? You have no right to just barge in their in the middle of what could have been a private conversation."

"Well its not like you wanted to be there." Her sea-blue eyes rolled as emphasis to the sarcasm. " And what 'private' matters were you talking about? Your secret love affair with Cornelius Fudge?"

Nyamh's glare narrowed further, and Gwen felt how a fly must when the spider creeps towards it on the silken web. "Fudge, can go die, it would be the only thing he has ever done to help the community." 

Opening her mouth to speak, Gwen was interrupted before anything came out. Then she found her voice. "Snake!" Gwen backed up several paces.

To her surprise, Nyamh crouched down, hand and arm extended to the black serpent.  It slithered its way up her forearm and onto Nyamh's shoulders, draping around her neck. Nyamh rubbed underneath its jaw with her long fingers as she rose and turned to face Gwen once more. "Whom does she belong to?" Nyamh inquired.

A sound like water being gurgled came from Gwen's throat. "Uh, it's uh, Snape's. Our Head of House, uh Slytherin, you know." She backed away more. "I don't like snakes. I really don't like snakes, or anything else that slithers around and has huge poisonous fangs."

Those pointed lips twitched upward. "Then you must not like me," Nyamh replied. The reptile twisted back down to the stone floor and once more blended with the shadows. _It appears I have gained someone's approval, she mused. _I just don't know how much that is worth… yet.__

Gwen regained her control and tried to ignore what the dark haired woman had just said. Flexing her fingers, Gwen told Nyamh to follow her to the Slytherin dormitories, well aware she had won no battles this night, but there was always later. How would Tamsin like her though? As she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, Gwenhwyfar realized the woman had to be hiding something. If not the Headmaster would not have objected to her being in Slytherin. Because Slytherin was the only house that was ruthless enough to find out. But he had over looked their loyalty to their own kind. At all costs.

Slytherin kept secrets, if only to protect themselves.

____________________________

Green embers still lingered in the Common Room's fireplace. It hadn't gone out long ago. Faline flicked a piece of dust onto the glow and watched as a small bit flared up. Her orangey gaze switched from the door to her watch and back again while one foot tapped quietly. She was good at being impatient. 

It was taking far too long for the new student to get here, Gwen (so exasperating!) had left an hour ago; the clock moved swiftly towards 1:30 in the morning. Somehow, Gwenhwyfar was convinced whoever it was would be a Slytherin. Grating noises, the sound of stone rubbing together, rumbled from the hidden doorway, but for a moment Faline saw nothing in the cleared pathway.

A figure appeared in the space her features obscured by torch-cast shadows, but the fire's shine danced briefly on her hair, illuminating the reddish-black. Breathing became difficult for Faline when she noticed this. "Nyamh? Nyamh Mortis?" Dizzyness danced in her head as she stood up rapidly.

"Well, if it isn't Faline Malfoy?" Nyamh dropped her trunk onto the sofa, rolling her shoulders. "Goddess that thing is heavy."

Starting the flames once more, Gwen turned to look back at the others. "Do I dare ask what's in there?"

"Yes," Faline jeered, "what is the current body count?"

"Ask your father," concluded Nyamh. ("Ah, must have been a bad night.") " Now, I want to begin unpacking, then try to sleep a bit."

            Laughing, Faline and Gwen helped Nyamh carry her luggage up the stairs, which led to the girl's dormitories. There wasn't anything amusing to Nyamh. Already she could taste blood on the back of her tongue, bile would follow soon. _Shit. When they reached the sixth-year girls, Faline bid them good night and left for her own dorm room, though neither she nor Gwen gave the impression of being at all tired._

            The door found itself shoved open by Gwen and the first thing Nyamh saw was a pair of indigo-green eyes, black hair, and vermilion lips. "Sorry," the girl muttered, seeming abashed at having fallen into Nyamh's face. "I'm Tamsin Lestrange."

"Lestrange?"

Tamsin braced herself for the inevitable response; the shying away at learning her parents had been Death Eaters.

            "You look almost exactly like your mother. I believe her name is Bellatrix?."

This was the opposite of what Tamsin had expected. "My mother, you know her? How? I mean-"

"No, I've never met her, But Lucius Malfoy has a few pictures with her in them." Nyamh shrugged, setting her bags down on the only free bed.

"Oh." That was all she said.

A hand was placed on Nyamh's shoulder. "Hello," its owner said, "I am Winter, Winter Anoxylasain. But don't worry about trying to pronounce my last name, even the teachers call me Winter." Her golden face broken into a laughing grin. "My dad is Egyptian, but Mum's from Bath." The irony of this seemed to amuse her. "Where are you from?"

"Ireland."

            Sitting down next to her, Tamsin replied, "Really? You don't have an accent."

            "Well, it's just that I travel so much that I only have an certain area's accent when speaking that language."

            "What languages do you speak?"

            Nyamh thought for a moment. "Let's see." She pushed bits of shorter hair out of her face, then gave up and took the bun out entirely. "Er, I speak Russian, Greek, Latin, Irish, Hindi, English, and enough German to survive for a few days." 

            Sighing, Winter realized, "I'm sorry, you must be tired and here we go, chatting your ears off. Do you need any help unpacking."

            Pulling a tunic out of the trunk, Nyamh shook her head; she could do it in the morning. As the light faded, she wondered what this year had in store, and if this would be the school she could feel right in. _But Greece felt right, but you couldn't stay there,_ sneered a little voice in her mind._ Face it,  you'll never stay anywhere, because you're only safe as long as you run._

___________________

            Dawn had just begun to steal over the moor's horizon, hardly giving enough light to see by, when Nyamh fell off the four-poster and curled up against the pain shooting through her body. The taste of blood and bile reached up to coat her tongue. Breathing deeply, she stumbled over to the toilet, locking the door and falling to her knees. She shoved up the lid, vomiting crimson while wiping away the red dripping from her eyes.

            Nyamh used words most sailors didn't know as her head swam from the loss of blood. Shivers of agony tap-danced down her spine but Nyamh ignored them, flushing the toilet and starting the shower to wash the stains from her face and neck and hands.

            The heat took immediate effect on strained muscles the instant Nyamh stepped in. The stiffness in her back loosened slightly, yet not enough to remove most of the pain. She reminded her self to take the painkiller in her suitcase.

            But it didn't matter. Nowadays it didn't seem like anything mattered much. Not the agony, not the bleeding, nothing remained. _Well, _she mused, _I suppose there are some things left. Besides, the Dark of the Moon knows all my secrets and Hekate still reigns. _Shuddering she closed her eyes, forcing all emotion back down into her, where it couldn't break free again. When Nyamh gazed up once more, she didn't blink as the water drained down her face.

            She was right. It didn't matter anymore, but if nothing did, why had she been handed another chance?

© A. N. McCormick 2003

All rights reserved for characters and plot line created by me.


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